The Coldest Love She's Ever Known

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The Coldest Love She's Ever Known Page 6

by Leo Sullivan


  As I turned my head to wave at my moms, I spotted Gunner, my lieutenant. He looked disheveled, his cheeks were sunken, his eyes were gaunt. He had lost a considerable amount of weight, like maybe he was sick or something, but he showed love, shouted my name and repped our set. I nodded my head in greeting to him but, in the back of my mind, I couldn’t help but think about what had been said about him robbing me.

  “JDBs!” he shouted aloud.

  As soon as he said it, the entire courtroom erupted with the sing-song chants of ‘JDBs’ in the courtroom. The bailiffs and cops moved around, telling them to cut it out and my attorney gave me a stern expression, letting me know what he was thinking. This wasn’t a good look for me right now. I quickly found Bulletproof and Dolo in the back of the courtroom. They were the incorrigible ring leaders, hyping everyone up, until I caught their attention with a piercing glare and mouthed, “Chill! Stop the bullshit.” They obeyed.

  What stood out to me was when I turned and saw Shotti on the other side of the courtroom. He could barely meet my gaze, but he did throw up our gang sign, an image of a gun: raising two fingers and a thumb, with both hands. However, the fact that he could hardly look at me was an instant concern.

  On my right, seated at the prosecutors table, was Donald Lee, the Fed’s lead prosecutor. He was a huge white man of stature, standing about six-foot-six and over three hundred pounds with broad shoulders. He looked like he may have been a linebacker in his younger days. He wore thin glasses that looked too small for his big Elmer Fudd-shaped head.

  Donald Lee was known for logistic brilliance in law tactics and unscrupulous borderline illegal behavior, both in the courtroom and out. They did a feature on him on A & E some years back about how he’d held back evidence that would have freed several innocent Black men in six cases. It was a wonder that he was still able to practice law.

  Federal Judge Regina Duncan was elegant, regal Black woman with mahogany skin and a beautiful face. Her black hair had fringes of gray, tied to the back in a bun. She was a buxom woman that looked to be anywhere between thirty-four to forty-four, providing evidence to the saying that ‘black don’t crack’. She practiced law with a no-nonsense approach as she banged her gavel.

  “Quiet in the courtroom or I will have each of you escorted out of here!”

  The was a ripple of voices as the courtroom noise suddenly came to a lull.

  “Prosecuting attorney Mr. Lee, I see here in your evidentiary records that there has been an addendum added to it,” the judge said as she looked at some papers in front of her desk.

  Lee stood and adjusted his pants to conceal his potbelly.

  “Yes, I needed to add for the court records that the little four-year-old girl had possibly been sexually assaulted.”

  Disgruntled voices erupted throughout the courtroom as the judge frowned and looked over at me. My lawyer was on his feet with the quickness.

  “Your Honor, the prosecution is just now making this known but, also, these are inflammatory statements. They have no relevance in this courtroom proceeding but only to damage my client. Also, this evidence, even if it was relevant, should have been placed into the discovery for me to review.”

  “I disagree, Your Honor. This is relevant because under title code eighteen, I can make the court known of anything that may be criminal and circumstantial to the hearing.”

  “That is not how the law is supposed to be applied. If the court will allow me time, I can prove so with legal statures that say otherwise!” my attorney argued back. The two attorneys exchanged more heated words before the judge finally banged her gavel.

  “Enough! Or I will have you two in contempt of court in my courtroom.”

  There was a volley of words exchanged, legal terms and lingo that I knew nothing about, but what I did understand was that my lawyer was fully engaging the prosecutor. Judging from the argument, he appeared to be winning. The judge continued to agree in his favor and the more it happened, the more hope I gained. I stole an opportunity to glance over at my mom.

  “You are coming home,” she mouthed. I read her lips and smiled.

  Nobody knew my old girl held the key to everything. She had been the real glue that not only held me together, but my entire empire. I had purchased her a home in Roswell, Georgia, in a bogus name, under a company cooperation just as the rich white folks do. No one but me, her and a lawyer knew about that it.

  Again, I looked over at Shotti and he continued to stare straight ahead, as if he was distant. However, it was his expression that told me everything I needed to know. Gangsters like myself had to function off gut instincts and street savviness or our lifespan would be cut short by a timely demise. Right then, my instincts were telling me that my once good friend could have betrayed me in some way. I wasn’t a cardinal saint; I had committed crimes before, but only in retaliation or self-defense; never had I harmed an entire family or a child.

  I made a mental note to send word out immediately to have him watched. I wasn’t sure who had set me up yet and everyone was going to be a suspect until I started my process of elimination. I had learned that when bodies started dropping, people started talking.

  Suddenly, the judge looked up and stared directly at me then asked the bailiff for a fifteen-minute recess before returning with her decision. That was the first time she looked at me and I saw kindness in her eyes as I watched her rise from her desk and gather some papers to leave.

  As soon as she left, I turned to speak with my mother and some of my crew. Bulletproof and Dolo both tried to walk over to me, but instantly, the bailiff rushed them along with several police who had been added to the court proceeding for extra security. There was some minor pushing and shoving. They both moved back to their seats but not before Bulletproof, the most aggressive of the crew, announced “JDBs! We four thousand deep in Atlanta alone.” He was rewarded with hoots and chants.

  I flinched, telling them to chill. At the time, what I didn’t release, out some the federal courtroom, in the streets was a spectacle like never seen before, there was thousands of supporters and people from our hood and even other states that sympathizes with our organization, The John Doe Boys had turned into a movement and it was mostly due to social media networking and organizing

  We must have drove the bailiffs crazy inside the courtroom, there was loud talking and yelling, people calling my name. Somebody threw a balled-up piece of paper at the prosecutor, hitting him in the back of his head. He jumped to his feet, yelling and arrogantly ask who did it?

  All I could do was look on dismayed, this was not helping my cause, but I had to admit their presents was needed and the streets were watching along with some of the rest of the world.

  Moments later the judge walked back in, her stoic demeanor attentive and alert. There was a sudden stifling silence as a murmur of voices lulled to a quietus the tension in the room was tight as a rope.

  The judge took her seat and glowered at the courtroom like she knows about the loud ruckus in her absence. She then went into her legal introduction as it related to her opinion of the case that would ultimately change my life forever, the courtroom had drawn so quiet you could hear a pin drop.

  In the background behind me I heard somebody praying and look behind me, it was my mama, she was reading her Bible.

  I held my breath.

  “This case troubles me and I must admit I have my concerns, which caused me to do extensive research in studying case law. One of the things that disturbs me was that recently an estimated three thousand cases were slated for re-examination that were like this very case which dealt with FBI hair and fiber analysis this is being used more and more since DNA testing became a widely available. So far, almost two thousand cases have been reviewed and were found to have flaws, over ninety percent. In some cases, the misuse of evidence was used to convict innocent people.”

  The judge then glowered at Lee. Instantly, I felt a sense of relief as I heard my mama in the background say, “Yes, Lord, bring him hom
e!” I cut my eyes over at Shotti and for the first time I saw concerned etched on to his face. I suddenly had doubts about his guilt.

  “However, in this particular case right here the other evidence speaks loudly. Given the circumstances, the defendant didn’t have an alibi, and did have ties with the slain family and that his girlfriend at the time just happen to walk in and discovered the on bodies I found this to be more then circumstantial and not just that, the little girl in question whom may or may not have been sexually molested, the court has no choice but to take that into account, as well as the defendants background and prior criminal history. It is alleged that the defendant is the leader and organizer in the RICO crime act. Currently to date, there have been three police officers brutally murdered and a host of civilians.”

  “Your honor, that has nothing to do with my client,” my lawyer interrupted.

  The judge stopped talking and glared at him. There was a pregnant pause, then she continued.

  “For these reasons, I owe a duty to courtroom and my country to uphold the jurisprudence of the law as I see fit. With that being said, I have no choice but to rule in favor of the prosecution, because I don’t see sufficient evidence to rule in favor of the defendant,” the judge said looking directly at me and banged her gavel.

  Instantly, there was upheaval. Someone threw a small trash can across the courtroom. Several bailiffs rushed over, and there was shouting and shoving. When a cop ran over and pulled out a stun gun and shot one on the crew, things quickly escalated, the cops and the bailiff were outnumbered and soon there was a huge melee with punching being thrown. All I could do was sit there stunned, in sheer disbelief. Then I turned to check on my mom and sister, they were still there but I noticed that Shotti was gone. Then, I felt bodies topple over on into the desk, one of my crew was wrestling with the officer trying to take his gun.

  “Fuck!”

  I was supposed to be leaving prison. I was supposed to be free, or at least have good grounds for an appeal. Even though I had done a lot of fucked up shit in my day, I didn’t deserve this. I looked around the courtroom at the melee which had erupted into pure pandemonium as the bailiffs rushed over assaulting people. Even the media that had shown up was involved; several of them had got caught up in the fight.

  Members of my crew, Thug, Spank and Kilo, were on their feet getting it in, like a street brawl as they fought with the police toe-to-toe, throwing blows. Gunner had his back against the wall, and Makita was only a few feet away standing with my sister and mom. The terror of it all was etched on their faces. I felt several people grab me roughly and I was yanked up out my chair. The bailiffs were rough handling me as if I was the culprit as they called for backup on their radio.

  “I’ll file for an appeal. She can’t do this; the United States Court of Appeals is going to toss this case,” my lawyer yelled as he ducked from something being thrown.

  Though his words were hopeful, I knew better. I could see it in his eyes; they were dead like I would be once they executed me. The United States Courts of Appeal rarely accepted cases like mine and, when they did, only 1% of defendants prevailed after waiting years to be heard.

  My emotions numb as I was damn near dragged across the courtroom by the bailiffs. I stole a glance at my mom as she cried in her hands, releasing maudlin tears that hurt my soul. Not too far away was Makita and my sister. Makita was emotionless but her eyes were red, like how people look when they’re devastated, shocked beyond their mind, and I don’t know what to say. For over three years she had been visiting me, running my business and holding me down. She, too, couldn’t even meet my gaze. This would be end of the road for us, for me, and the life as we hoped to renew together.

  As I reached the door to the inmate holding facility adjacent to the courtroom, right next to the judge’s chamber. Behind me, I could hear my mom call my name, in the midst of uttering a litany of prayers. She cried right along with my sister. They were drenched in a river of tears. Several other people called out my name, chanting together in unison. That was when everything went bizarre, like I was in a trance, moving in surrealistic motion as the bailiffs rushed me to the holding cell. The ruckus of noise in the courtroom continued.

  The Federal Marshalls were already inside waiting. They chatted idly as I was escorted in. It appeared they were absolutely oblivious to the fisticuff that was going on in the very next room and after a few seconds, I could see why. Either the courtroom was soundproof, or the room was; you couldn’t hear a thing from inside. My eyes scanned the room as I was told to sit and did so with difficulty. My hands were still cuffed in front of me.

  “We are having a problem in the courtroom. A riot...” The bailiff cut his eyes at me as he filled in the Marshalls. “It began after his appeal was denied. Can one of you come assist? The crowd is pretty large.”

  “I got it,” one of the Marshalls replied. “You stay with him.”

  Together, the bailiff and Marshall both rushed out with their hands on their weapons. I got a glance outside the door; it was almost empty outside. From the look of it, as soon as they had dragged me down the hall, the crew must have taken off for the exits. It was a smart move because the police had surely called for backup.

  Two Marshalls remained in the room with me, but they weren’t at all concerned with the courtroom proceedings, much less me. My mind was still in a frenzy, I had been so close to coming home but, now, so far. Either way, I knew that I just couldn’t let them take me back to that cage.

  “Since I’m in here, can I get these off?” I asked, lifting my cuffed hands in the air.

  The Marshalls turned to me, as if they were just seeing me for the first time since I’d entered the room, and then one nodded.

  “Yeah, okay.”

  He took out his keys to remove my handcuffs as he continued to converse with his buddy about a vacation that he and his family were taking next week to the Grand Canyon. Their light-hearted conversation was a direct contrast to my inner thoughts.

  I’m going to die in prison…

  They were about to take me back to the dreadful, draconian penitentiary and my life would be doomed. Over.

  “Do you want some coffee to take on the road?” I heard one of the Marshall’s ask the other.

  “Yes,” the other one replied. I was too deep in my thoughts to know which was which.

  With my head down, I heard steps as someone walked away, pausing only a moment to unlock a heavy steel door before continuing on.

  I was left alone with the other Marshall who was scrolling through something on his phone. My record and reputation while locked up was probably what had them so off-guard. I’d never been a problem, not even once, unless provoked. His casual behavior toward me would work in my favor. The cuffs were off, and I rubbed my raw wrist while searching around the room.

  Suddenly, a desperate thought emerged in the dark crevice of my mind as a plan began to unravel. It was a desperate one, but desperate times called for desperate measures. What I was thinking was nothing short of suicide, but it was my last chance at freedom. The Marshall had an athletic build and muscular frame like a wrestler. He was a few inches taller than me and a few pounds heavier. From just the look at him, I knew it wouldn’t be easy.

  Just as he moved to place his phone back into his pocket, I hit him with a quick right hook with all my might, square on his chin. He staggered and almost fell but recovered fast and then dropped his head to run into me like a ram. The force damn near knocked me off my feet. I was propelled backwards. I was not prepared for this. When his arms began to windmill throwing punches, I was violently slammed against a wall, causing some pictures to tumble as our fight ensued.

  There was a loud crash as we knocked over a table with a computer stationed on top. I managed to get off a few good punches, but it didn’t see to fade him. In fact, when he rose, his nose was bloody and his face was crimson red with blood, but it was like pure adrenaline was rushing through him as he continued to swing wildly.

&
nbsp; I may have bitten off more than I could chew.

  The white boy knew how to fight. He swung again and we locked like crabs in a bucket a fight to the duel. His confidence got the better of him when he dropped his guard just to get in a good punch and nearly lost his balance. Taking the opportunity, I leaped and managed to get my arms around his neck in a partial headlock and squeezed, cutting off the air to his windpipe. He started resisting, punched me in my back and tried a desperate swing for my face, then attempted to gouge my eyes out with fingers stiff like talons.

  I choked him harder…

  He continued to resist. Until, finally, his strength was starting to wane, and his body began to tremble. I could hear him struggle to breathe so I squeezed harder.

  I heard him gag, then begin to choke as his arms flailed like a fish out of water.

  I choked him even harder.

  That’s when I felt something crack. It was his neck. His body went limp and I heard a gasp escape his lungs—his last breath. I let him go and he fell to the floor with his neck broken. I looked around for a way to exit out the building. My heart was beating so hard. There was a back exited that I remembered coming through with tunnels and other passageways, but I would have to get out of there fast before the other Marshall returned.

  Just as I looked around for a weapon, as if on cue, the courtroom door opened.

  I was busted!

  It was his partner and he was holding two cups of coffee in his hands, struggling to balance them while using one foot to tug open the heavy door. Thankfully, he hadn’t yet seen our scuffle or his dead partner’s body lying on the other side of the door with his neck broken.

  I knew that I had to think fast. On top of the desk in front of me was a fax machine or some type of heavy similar apparatus. I reached out and snatched it up as fast as I could before lunging it at him. The machine narrowly missed as he looked up in time and ducked just in time, causing it to crash against the wall. He dropped both cups and dived at me just as I sprung forward at him. We clashed like two Titanics, only he was taller and outweighed me by nearly fifty pounds.

 

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